A man in a blue shirt was walking past his window. Anger!
“Asshole!” he yelled out the window.
The man in the blue shirt looked up, quizzical, his brow uncertain. “Yeah, I’m talking to you,” he shouted. The man’s face twisted. “Come on up and get me!” he shouted, and slammed the window. He slammed it open again. “Motherfucker!” he added.
The front door slammed, and feet trampled up the stairs. He spun with glee, did a little dance on his tip-toes, curled and uncurled his fingers with delight. “He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming,” he crooned to himself, and slid into the front room.
When the man in blue burst into the room, saying, “Alright, dickwad, what’s all this –” he was ready.
BANG! said the gun, and he crashed back against the window, breaking a spiderweb across it, trailing blood and humour down the wall, still smiling, still merry. The last thing he saw as the lights went out was the ashen face of the man in the blue shirt; the last thing he heard was the wailing of sirens.